


Sapphire Blue Guitar

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Brienne as a Badass Guitarist, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Jaime Lannister as a Rock Star, Mentor/Protégé, Tribute Band, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: Brienne is a guitarist in a tribute band that has a viral video. Jaime, the guitarist in the "real" band, sees the video and goes to one of their shows.The past few days have been insane. The video reached two million views (and counting), the local news contacted them for an interview on their morning show, other media outlets have been bugging them for comment, and they still have their regular gig at Qyburn’s on Saturday. Sansa spends most of the week freaking out about whether or not they could be sued by The Kingslayers’ legal team, but the day before their show, she receives a very brief, but nice email from Tyrion Lannister, the band’s manager (and brother to their lead guitarist.) “Saw this. Rock on, girls!”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 78
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally a prompt I received on tumblr and the first part of it is already posted in my Azure and Crimson collection. Today, I made it a separate story since I added a second part! Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Original prompt by @tarthiana; inspired by Liz Phair, Kim Gordon, and the Fender sapphire blue electric guitar.

**Prompt** : Brienne is a guitarist in a tribute band that has a viral video. Jaime, the guitarist in the "real" band, sees the video and goes to one of their shows.

“100,000!” she hears Sansa announce. 

Brienne is still half asleep, but slowly rises upon hearing her friend’s announcement. By the time her feet hit the floor and she staggers out to the living room, she sees her other roommates and bandmates, Asha and Ygritte, shuffling around the kitchen, looking like they are dealing with the same emotional hangover. (Ygritte might be suffering from an actual hangover. She was knocking back shots last night.) They all grab at the coffees Sansa has brought, made to everyone’s order, and demolish the box of donuts. 

“Did you save one for Margaery?” Sansa calls. Ygritte, Asha, and Brienne exchange wide-eyed, guilty looks, and burst into laughter. Asha puts back a chocolate one for Marg. 

“What’s the count at now?” Asha asks as they join Sansa in the living room, flopping down on couches, balancing coffee cups, and licking their fingers clean of powdered sugar or icing from the donuts. 

“105,000.” The three of them nod, trying not to get too excited. Brienne knows it’s the most hits they’ve ever had. Maybe they would finally start booking more gigs at places other than Qyburn’s Goat. 

The set last night was amazing. She wasn’t sure if it was the energy of the crowd or what, but the songs were tight. They stopped worrying about the mechanics and simply let go and had fun.

Perhaps too much fun, judging from the half naked man trying to sneak out of the house right now. Asha lets out a cheer, Sansa turns beet red, and Ygritte waves it off. “Aw, that’s just Jon.” She beckons him over and tips her head over the back of the couch to give him a kiss. 

“Ugh,” Sansa moans, hiding her face in a pillow. “That’s my brother.” 

“I’ll call you later,” he promises. “Great show, ladies.” He smiles at their group before heading out the door. 

“Great show, ladies,” Asha repeats in a mocking, derisive tone, until Ygritte nudges her in the shoulder.

“Do we want to have our decompression sesh now?” Brienne asks, stifling a yawn. She’s half wondering if the number of hits on their video has anything to do with their song choice.

“Margaery’s not even awake yet. Can’t start a band meeting without our lead singer.” 

The four of them met in college due to their love of the rock band, The Kingslayers. One night at karaoke, when they found out Margaery could actually sing, they decided to form their own group. “A kind of gender reversal thing” as Asha had coined it, The Queenslayers. They started out messing around by playing a couple songs at a student talent show, but the response was so great, they kept it up, and started doing more and more covers of their favorite Kingslayers songs. By graduation, they were a full blown tribute band with regular gigs. 

They all had other jobs, but the whole thing, which started out as a college joke, felt like it was snowballing into something serious these last few months. The Kingslayers, who had stopped recording and touring years before, announced they were doing a new album and accompanying comeback tour. Due to The Kingslayers’ return, more people seemed to have gotten wind of their little band, and more and more people were showing up to their sets. 

Sansa was social media obsessed and had been friends with Brienne for years, so it made sense to bring her into the fold, and she had nearly doubled their hits in the past few months.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims, looking at her phone now. “We’re at 250,000. That’s…impossible. When did I check last?” 

Asha’s eyes widened. “Not that long ago! Before Jon strolled through.” 

Chaos erupts in their living room. “Don’t remind me!” Sansa declares, as Ygritte is grabbing for her phone, and nearly knocks over Asha’s coffee before Brienne swoops it up, saving their living room floor from another disaster. 

She glaces up to see Margaery smiling as she comes in, looking perfectly put together as always in an emerald green silk robe, a hint of lacy lingerie peeking out as the robe falls off one shoulder. “What’s going on?” she asks innocently.

“One of our songs from last night has a bunch of hits. Show her, Sansa,” Asha prompts. She hands her phone to Margaery, her fingers trembling a little. Sansa’s cheeks flush before she turns to look at Brienne, who gives her friend a reassuring smile.

“Well, that is exciting.” 

*

“Tyrion.” He shook his brother awake from where he was passed out on Jaime’s living room couch after a particularly fierce night out. 

“Wha-gog?”

Jaime shoves his phone into his brother’s hand. “Just watch this. Addam sent it to me.” He crosses into the kitchen in his giant loft apartment. As he makes coffee, he can hear the tinny strains of the song through the phone’s speakers and hums along under his breath. It finally gets to the part Jaime has been waiting for, the guitar solo. He watched it about five times this morning. The shock of blonde hair falling in her face, the way her fingers fly faster and better than his own. His guitar skills haven’t been the same since the accident. 

“Damn,” Tyrion grunts when Jaime returns and sets a steaming mug in front of him. “They’re good.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “She is. The guitarist. Their singer could be better and their drummer is shit, but she…” he taps his fingers on the phone over the woman paused mid-solo. “…she’s the key to all of it.”

“Maybe I should hire her for the tour, then,” Tyrion snarks. Squinting, his brother watches the video again. “Gods, they’re young,” he breathes. 

“They’re not. We’re just old. Old and washed up,” Jaime tosses over his shoulder as he heads back into the kitchen to make them breakfast. 

“Speak for yourself!”

*

The past few days have been insane. The video reached two million views (and counting), the local news contacted them for an interview on their morning show, other media outlets have been bugging them for comment, and they still have their regular gig at Qyburn’s on Saturday. Sansa spends most of the week freaking out about whether or not they could be sued by The Kingslayers’ legal team, but the day before their show, she receives a very brief, but nice email from Tyrion Lannister, the band’s manager (and brother to their lead guitarist.) “Saw this. Rock on, girls!” 

“Girls,” Asha sneers. 

“It’s nice,” Brienne replies. “Like he’s giving us his blessing.” She feels a bit uncertain about all the attention and prefers to concentrate on their upcoming show. Their house seems to have fallen into constant bickering about what their future might hold, so Brienne holes up in her room, fooling around with half-written songs. It’s her father’s old guitar, not the sleek blue electric Fender she uses at gigs, the one which matches her eyes. It’s taken her a number of years, but she’s written a few songs, and she only hopes that one day she’ll get to play them. 

*

Qyburn’s is packed. No, packed doesn’t even cover it. It’s teeming. They arrive a few hours early to have time for a sound check and there’s already a line around the block. “Holy shit,” Asha intones.

Nerves begin to prick at Brienne’s stomach. Sansa steers the car as close to the door as possible. Margaery is following behind in a separate car with Ygritte’s drum set. 

After their sound check, she bums around in her old Kingslayers’ t-shirt and jeans for a bit until they all start getting ready. Brienne doesn’t usually put much thought into what she is going to wear for shows, but tonight she put together what feels like an appropriate outfit. She changes into a well-worn striped black and white t-shirt, ripped black tights, and a pair of men’s maroon shorts over the tights. She prefers jeans, but they get hot during shows, and Margaery is always telling Brienne her best feature is her legs. 

During sound check, she noticed her hands were twitchy, almost little muscle tremors. But now they are full on shaking. She has them tucked under her thighs as Margaery does a smoky eye on her. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she breathes.

“Don’t tell the others,” Margaery says very quietly. “But you’re the best out of all of us, Bri. So you can. I’ve seen how strong you are.” With all the bickering lately, it’s easy to forget how long they’ve all known each other and how well each of them know her. It’s comforting. 

Brienne nods, glancing at herself in the mirror. The eye makeup is a lot, but she loves it. “Thank you,” she says, giving Margaery a tight squeeze. “You’re amazing.” 

*

All week, Jaime tries to convince himself not to go, but curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself ushered into Qyburn’s via the kitchen. He’s wearing a red and yellow plaid shirt and a black baseball cap pulled down over his hair. 

There’s a giant roar from the crowd as Queenslayers take the stage and he laughs, knowing what it’s like to be on the other end of that. His heart clenches when he sees her, blonde hair swept out of her eyes for now, a beaming blush coloring her cheeks as she looks out at the crowd and gives a little wave. She grips her blue electric guitar. Beautiful hands, he thinks. Long, nimble fingers. 

It takes her a couple songs to get into it, but if she’s nervous, he can’t tell. By the third song, she and the bass guitarist are bopping around the stage and his eyes can’t help but travel the length of her legs, can see the lines of muscle in her calves. He feels dirty for even noticing and swallows the rest of his beer.

It’s an odd feeling, listening to songs he wrote years ago, but there’s a pride there, too. They sound better in person than the video. The singer is evocative and flirty, even more so than Addam, which he didn’t think was possible. When they get to the song he’s been waiting to hear, as soon as she starts to play the guitar solo, electricity races up his spine. His heart is pounding in time to the music and he licks his lips, watching her with anticipation. _Come on_ , he thinks. _You got this._ It’s strange, but he wants her to do well. He hasn’t even met her, but somehow feels he knows her. When she finishes, he gives a shout from the back. “Woohoo!” Others join in and the cheers travel up to the stage. She smiles, a blush rising in her cheeks again. She searches the back of the room, shielding her eyes with her hand for a moment, looking for someone. Looking for him. 

*

After their set, Brienne watches her bandmates. Ygritte finds Jon in the crowd, Asha and Theon are already headed towards the bar, and much to Brienne and Sansa’s surprise both, Margaery kisses Sansa as soon as she steps off stage. The two of them smiling at each other giddily before they find Renly and Loras in the crowd. Brienne tries to ignore the envy which washes over her. Everyone has someone. Except her. Her dad has always been supportive of her music–he had even called her when he saw the video–but he’s busy with his new family on Tarth and she cannot picture him hanging out in Qyburn’s to hear her play. 

Brienne makes her way to the back, getting stopped by a few people in the crowd who congratulate her on the video or tell her “great show” with bright smiles and a nod, but she’s relieved when she arrives at the bar and signals Hodor for her usual. “I’ve got it,” the man next to her gestures to the bartender. 

She’s surprised and surveys him out of the corner of her eye quickly before he turns towards her, flashing her a smile. The smile she would recognize anywhere. It’s dark and he’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low, but there are green eyes peeking out underneath the rim. Ohmygods. It can’t be. 

“Jaime Lannister?” she asks, dumbfounded. Why would he bother? She remembers Sansa’s worries about the Kingslayers suing them and her stomach plummets. But why would they send him? They would send a team of lawyers instead. 

“Shhh,” he presses a finger to his lips, his other hand falling to her wrist to quiet her. 

“Oh my gods,” she replies, her tone muted. “It’s really you. What the fuck.” She covers her mouth with her hand, horrified she just cursed in front of her idol, but he laughs and some of the worry slips from her body. He has the most beautiful laugh. And he’s gorgeous. Not that she doubted he would be, but she can tell, even though his looks are tucked under a baseball cap and his body hidden by long sleeves. “I mean,” she tries again, knowing she’s beet red. “Thank you for coming?” 

“Is that a question?” he winks at her and thankfully their drinks arrive, because she’s pretty sure she’s died or melted into the floor or something. It’s Jaime Lannister. Standing here. Talking to her like they’ve known each other for years. 

“No, really, thank you. What the seven hells are you doing here?” 

He grins and gods, he’s so fucking easy on the eyes it hurts. She feels like an awkward giant next to him and probably looks absolutely ridiculous in this eye makeup when she’s not on stage, but then he’s speaking and her brain stops freaking out so she can listen. “I saw the video, like the rest of the world. You’re good.” 

“Thanks.” It’s such an automatic response, but she tries to let the simple praise infiltrate her many layers of defense. Tries to truly absorb that her favorite musician told her their band was good. “So has…did the whole band see it?” 

“Of course. Addam’s the one who sent it to me.” He takes a sip of his beer before he turns his whole body towards her, leans in so close she can feel the heat from his skin. She feels dizzy and turned on and confused all at once. “The band is good,” he murmurs in her ear. “But you, you’re truly talented. You know that, right?” He draws back to gage her reaction and finds himself arrested by her eyes. The blue so deep it nearly matches the color of her guitar, the same blue of his mother’s wedding ring made of sapphires and rubies. Her eyes are steady. A calm in a stormy sea. “The guitar solo,” he nods up at the stage. “You’re better than I am. My brother would kill me for saying that, but it’s the truth.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits. Brienne’s half convinced he’s lying, half wonders if he’s trying to get her to sleep with him or if he has some ulterior motive, but the way he’s smiling at her, the way his face softens whenever she talks, she doesn’t think so. He’s a millionaire. He doesn’t have to come to dank bars to see tribute bands play in order to get someone into bed with him. He seems genuine. “Thank you. That means a lot.” She’s nearly finished her beer and glances up to see if Hodor is nearby so she can order another. 

“Let’s go outside,” Jaime suggests. “It’s too hard to talk in here. I want to get to know you, Brienne Tarth.” Her skin prickles with the heat of his voice saying her name. She follows him outside, half laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.” 

He holds the kitchen door open for her and there’s a cool breeze as they step outside. “I doubt that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne knows the intention bethind Ygritte’s comments are sweet, but it stings a little. To her, it sounds like Jaime couldn’t possibly be interested in her for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is tooth-rotting fluff. Also, unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

**Part II**

Brienne slowly inches out of bed. She turns on the lights in the bathroom, a giant vanity mirror flickering to life. She doesn’t look so bad. Running her fingers through her thin hair combs away any tangles. While brushing her teeth, she examines herself in the mirror once more. The Kingslayers’ crop top she’s wearing shows off her abs and the leggings hug her in all the right places. 

Turning off the bathroom light, she sneaks back to bed, but as soon as she climbs back under the covers, his arms snake around her waist, and he tickles the bare skin of her stomach, making her writhe and kick against him. “Stop!” she objects, laughing. “Jaime!” 

“Good morning,” he murmurs in her ear, letting out a soft chuckle. His hands still, his palm pressing into the bare skin of her stomach, before moving upward, fingers running along the underside of her breast. Brienne turns in his arms, kissing him. 

They have breakfast on the rooftop deck of his penthouse apartment. Brienne still hasn’t gotten used to all the bells and whistles of his somewhat extravagant lifestyle. She really just wants to spend time with him, no matter if it’s on a rooftop deck overlooking King’s Landing or crammed into an uncomfortable bus seat next to him. 

When she’s finally getting ready to leave--she still works at an afterschool center--Jaime tucks her into a long hug. “I’ll see you tonight,” Brienne objects, laughter bubbling up in her throat. He pulls her into a sweet, slow kiss that she’ll be thinking about for the rest of the day. 

“See you tonight,” he agrees. “Maybe I’ll come over to your place this time?” 

She is leaning over to pick up her guitar case, but freezes. They’ve spent several nights a week at Jaime’s place since they got together. She hasn’t been avoiding inviting him over, not exactly, but her house is so busy and noisy, and her roommates already give her enough crap about disappearing for days at a time. She can’t imagine how they will react if she shows up with him in tow. “Yeah, maybe,” Brienne says, trying to smile. “I’ll text you later.” 

“Of course.” She’s halfway out the door when he tugs at her elbow, pulling her in for one last kiss. “Have a good day.” He grins devilishly. 

*

**_Several months earlier_ **

Brienne’s fingers fumble over the strings and her hand skids to a stop, feedback echoing through the amp, but the serene surroundings of the studio absorb the cacophony of sound. 

“You had it. Why did you stop?” He frowns, glancing up at her, his green eyes glinting under his furrowed brow.

“I didn’t! My fingers fumbled that chord change.” 

“It happens to the best of us. Lean into it next time. Trust yourself.” 

“Okay,” Brienne exhales. “I should probably get going. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. Thank you, Mr. Lannister.” 

Jaime lets out a hiss of breath between his teeth. “Jaime, please. Mr. Lannister is my father.” He turns off the power on the amp and unplugs her cable, handing it to her. 

As her fingers brush over his, she can feel the blush blaze in her cheeks and hopes he thinks it’s only a heated flush from playing. After Kingslayers’ front man Jaime Lannister showed up to their gig a few months prior, he’s taken her under his wing. Brienne assumed it would be a one time thing, but he’s texted her several times about getting together to practice, and while she was uncertain what to make of it the first time, afraid she might be putting herself in a vulnerable position, she really enjoys his company. He makes her laugh a lot, and when they play together, she forgets to be self-conscious. 

But the way he’s looking at her right now, makes her stomach swoop and her palms go sweaty. “So I’m not going to be around for a few days,” he says, sticking his hands in his back pockets. “I guess the band is doing like a retreat thing, mostly a bunch of meetings where my brother gets to drone on about tour schedules and accommodations and marketing.” 

“Oh, well, that might be nice. Get out of town for a few days.” It’s Sansa’s birthday and Margaery has a string of activities planned, so Brienne wasn’t going to have time to practice anyway. She packs up her guitar and glances over at him. “When does the tour start?” 

“In a month.” His eyes widen and he grimaces slightly.

“Wow. Do you feel...ready?” 

“Not really, to be perfectly honest,” he chuckles. “And none of us have done the tour thing in years. We’re older…” he trails off, shaking his head. “It will be interesting, to say the least.”

“I’m sure it will be fun once you get back into the groove of things,” she replies, trying to stay positive. “And have fun this weekend, if you can.” 

“Thanks,” he grins. Jaime sees her out of the studio, locking up afterwards, and gives her a wave as he pulls down a baseball cap over his golden hair and strolls off down the street. 

*

“How’s lover boy?” Ygritte asks, mock swooning, as Brienne steps back into the house. 

“Ohhhh, she’s back!” Asha yells from the kitchen, coming around the corner with a bowl of popcorn, two beers stuck under her arm.

“It’s not like that and you know it,” she rolls her eyes and sets her guitar case down carefully by the stairs before joining Asha and Ygritte. 

“Come on, B,” Ygritte says, cocking her head to the side and studying her. “He’s a rock star. He’s helping you get better, not that you need it! But he’s gotta be into you.” 

Brienne knows the intention bethind Ygritte’s comments are sweet, but it stings a little. To her, it sounds like Jaime couldn’t possibly be interested in her for _her_. Only interested because he wants to fuck her. Nothing she has learned about Jaime in the past few months has led her to believe he is anything like his rock star persona. That’s only a role he trots out on tour or for the press. Maybe he was wild when he was younger, but now he seems almost subdued, and of utmost importance, a genuinely nice man. She shrugs, not really knowing what to say to the girls. They’ve been having this conversation for months and she’s tired of parsing every interaction with him. This may be a short-lived thing and she simply wants to enjoy it. 

*

When he arrives back at his apartment, he finds Tyrion waiting for him. “I really do need to take that extra key away from you,” Jaime jokes. 

“If you’re worried about me finding you in flagrante, I can assure you that won’t happen, considering your very lackluster track record.” 

“Ouch.” Jaime strides over to the fridge, hunting around for a beer, but realizing he finished them last night. “Is it too early for scotch?” 

“Never too early.” He pours glasses for them and carries them to where Tyrion is seated on the couch. 

“So, why are you here? To tell me I should be on my best behavior on the retreat this weekend?” Jaime exhales as he sits down. He takes a sip of scotch, balancing the glass on his left leg, as he flexes his right hand. There’s been more stiffness in his fingers than usual between practicing for the Kingslayers’ reunion tour and his studio sessions with Brienne.

“Don’t need to tell you if you already know.” His brother smirks at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“What’s going on?” 

Tyrion lets out a breath. “Ticket sales for the tour aren’t what we hoped. We’re not in the red or anything, but…” He trails off. “The music business isn’t what it used to be a decade ago.” 

He nods, uncertain how to feel. Jaime’s not worried about the money, not exactly, but he had hoped this reunion tour might be a good way to launch a solo career, something he’s wanted to do for years. But perhaps music wasn’t in his future. At least not in the same way he once imagined. “I’m sorry you have to deal with all this,” he apologizes. 

Tyrion shrugs. “I can handle it. I haven’t told the rest of the guys yet. I thought perhaps we could hold off until after the retreat this weekend?” 

He understands his brother’s logic. Whenever the band gets together, there’s usually at least one blow out fight, but he lets out a dry laugh. “Oh, so before we go on tour together for six months and spend 24/7 together? Fantastic.” He loves the high he gets from performing, but all the other realities of tour life don’t sound as appealing at 40 as they did at 25. 

“So,” his brother asks, a smirk sliding across his face. “Have you been seeing Brienne?”

“Yes, but not in the way you’re implying.” His face grows hot and it’s not from the scotch. “We’re friends.” 

“I see.” 

“Shut up,” he huffs and his brother laughs. 

“You should invite her on tour. At least get her band to come see a show. Backstage passes, the whole VIP treatment.” He knows his crush on her is apparent to anyone except Brienne, and it means a lot that Tyrion would offer to put the whole band up, since he’s just informed Jaime they are hurting for cash. Jaime has thought about it, of course, but hasn’t been able to get up the nerve to ask her. 

*

They make several stops for Sansa’s birthday, the last being a bar which has a variety of old arcade games, as well as a row of Skee-Ball. It seems more of a Ygritte or Asha pick than a Sansa one, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She wanders between all of them, watching them play games, a pink cocktail or white wine spritzer in her hand, before curling up in a corner booth and making out with Margaery. Jon and Ygritte are fighting about their scores, as Loras and Renly try to beat Brienne in Skee-Ball. “This is unnatural,” Loras shouts at her, laughing. Brienne hasn’t had as many drinks as everyone else, but she’s feeling a bit unsteady on her feet. They finally sit down to a well-deserved round of carbs: fries and greasy pizza. 

Brienne’s clutch is laying across her lap and she feels it buzzing against her legs. She glances around. Everyone who might possibly text her is sitting at the table with her. Asha is buried in her phone, and it’s not unlike her to send a message with a photo or funny meme as they are all sitting around together. 

She unsnaps the clasp on the blue leather bag and draws out her phone. Her heart starts to pound and she blinks, sure she is seeing things. But no, it’s from Jaime. 

**J. Lannister, 1:02 a.m.** : Your so good. 

**J** : Talemtedd, I mean.

 **J** : Talented. 

Brienne stares at her phone for a long moment, unsure what to do. It’s clear they’re both drunk. She doesn’t need to respond right now and she starts to put her phone away when it buzzes again. 

**J. Lannister, 1:05 a.m.** : And u have pretty eyes. 

_Fuck._

She slides her phone into her lap and reaches for the pitcher of water. Her eyes catch Loras’s across the table. “You okay?” he mouths. 

Brienne doesn’t know what to say, but she feels on the edge of the type of drunk where she might cry if someone is nice to her right now. Ygritte and Jon are sitting on her left. “Hey,” she whispers to the redhead. “Can I get out to use the bathroom?” 

“Of course, love.” Ygritte nudges Jon to move, so they can both get out of the booth. “I’ll go with you.” 

She really wants a moment alone right now, but doesn’t know how to tell her friend that, so she nods grimly, not even stopping to wait for her, instead making a beeline to the bathroom. “Hey,” Ygritte busts in after her. “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?” Brienne braces her hands against the edge of the bathroom sink. She might be sick, but not from alcohol. 

In the morning, she will blame her decision to show her phone to Ygritte on the booze, because the last thing she wants is everyone knowing they were right about Jaime and telling her so. 

“Oh my god!” She bounces when Brienne shows her. “I told you he liked you.” She tries to grab at her phone, but Brienne snatches it away, storing it safely back into her clutch. “What are you going to say?” 

She walks into a stall and closes the door behind her. “Nothing. He’s clearly drunk. I--We’re drunk.” 

“B, come on,” her friend sighs. “It’s not such a terrible thing, is it?” 

But it was terrible. Brienne had just gotten used to the idea of being friends with Jaime and now he was changing the dynamic on her. It made her question all of their interactions, his intention from the very beginning. 

When they finally get home, she chugs water and lies awake in bed, staring at her phone for far too long. You have pretty eyes. 

*

She doesn’t wake up until after ten. Adrenaline immediately shoots through her as she remembers the events of the night before. Brienne grabs for her phone, but accidentally knocks it off the nightstand, landing with a thunk on the carpet. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, when she finally sees the screen, her heart leaps in her chest. She has over a dozen texts from Jaime, all of them arriving between seven and ten a.m. The first one is rather lengthy. 

**J. Lannister, 7:18 a.m.** : Brienne, I’m so sorry. I meant what I said last night, you are very talented, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to take advantage of you. I’m not. I really appreciate our friendship and I hope you do too. Please text me back. I don’t have great cell reception but you can even call me if you want. I’m sorry. I hope we can still be friends. 

**J, 8:05 a.m.** : I know you’re probably not awake yet, but please text me. 

**J, 8:15 a.m.** : I don’t know how I can walk back the eyes comment. I don’t really want to, because it’s true. 

**J, 8:18 a.m.** : I’m sorry. I fucked everything up. 

**J, 9:09 a.m.** : Please call me. 

**J, 9:21 a.m.** : Or text me. Whatever you feel comfortable doing. 

**J, 9:45 a.m.** : Okay, I’m going for a run, but please call or text whenever. 

**J, 10:17 a.m.** : I really am sorry. 

He makes her stomach swoop every time he looks at her with those green eyes, but she’s not an idiot. She knows what she looks like--what _he_ looks like--and is perfectly aware there is a cadre of women who drop their panties for him at the end of every show. 

She wants to crawl under her pillow and die. Instead she grabs her headphones from her nightstand and plugs them into her phone. Her finger hovers his name, but before she can think about it too much, she presses “call”. He picks up on the first ring. “Brienne,” he sighs and her name sends a tingle of warmth up her spine. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice still rough with sleep. “I mean...you were clearly drunk. If you want to just forget about it, that’s fine by me.” There’s a crackling sound on his end and she glances at the screen, wondering if they lost the connection. “Jaime?”

“I’m still here.” He’s quiet for a long moment and her pulse pounds, worry twisting her gut. “I was drunk, but I meant what I said. Or what I texted, rather.” 

“Okay,” she breathes, her hands shaking. _She trusts him_. “Well, they were nice things.” 

She can imagine the smile pulling at his face. “Yeah?” 

Brienne nods, before realizing he can't see her. “Yes,” she replies quietly. 

His voice dips low. “Which one did you like better?” 

Her heart is racing. She can barely breathe, feeling as if she might burst. “Well, I kind of already knew the first thing.” 

“Good,” he laughs nervously. They’re both just waiting for her at this point.

“But,” she pauses. “No one’s ever told me I have pretty eyes before.” Brienne thought it might release some of the anticipation and tension, finally saying it, but it doesn’t. She feels as if she’s flung herself over the side of a cliff. And they’re only talking on the phone. She doesn’t know how she’s going to handle this--handle him--when they’re in the same space. 

“You do,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.” 

No one ever in her life has called any aspect of her, physical or internal, beautiful. Brienne bites her lip, but tears are already pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you.” They don’t say very much after that, content in each other’s company, as distant as it may be. There are things to talk about, questions she has, but they can discuss them when he’s back in town.

“I have to go,” he eventually says, his tone laced with regret. “Brienne, I--” Jaime stumbles over his words, and she finds it reassuring that someone as smooth and composed as him can be as clueless about all of this as she is.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she murmurs. “I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Okay,” he breathes, sounding relieved. “I’ll talk to you.” 

Seconds after they hang up, she gets a text from him. 

**J. Lannister, 10:47 a.m.** : Is it too sappy if I say I miss you? 

**B. Tarth, 10:48 a.m.** : No. I miss you, too. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to run through the usual? Or did you have something in particular you wanted to work on?” 
> 
> “I want you to teach me the song.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a chapter about Jaime's tour, but instead it's 3000 words of first date fluff.

**Part III**

She and Jaime text all weekend. Through some strange blessing of the gods--or perhaps just a massive hangover--Ygritte seems to have forgotten about the texts Brienne showed her in the bar bathroom, because none of the girls ask about them or drop sly hints, as she expected they might. 

They order a massive amount of pizza on Sunday and Brienne is at the door, tipping the delivery guy, when she hears a screech from the living room. “Are you sexting? With Jaime Lannister!!!” She immediately colors and the pizza guy looks intrigued, but she slams the door in his face, bracing to face her roommates. 

When she rounds the corner, pizzas in hand, Asha’s jaw is hanging open, Ygritte wears a knowing look on her face, and Margaery looks rather...pleased. (Blessedly, Sansa is at home showering, but she’s due to arrive any minute.) “We are NOT sexting,” she splutters, practically dumping the pizzas on the coffee table. 

“He said your ass looks good,” Margaery replies calmly while Ygritte and Asha titter on the couch. 

“That’s out of context!” But her face is burning with blush. “We were talking about the best outfits to wear during a show.” 

“Fine,” the brunette tilts her head and regards Brienne calmly. “But do you at least realize he’s flirting with you?” 

“Yes,” she huffs, snatching her phone away from Margaery. She wants to smother all their smug faces with a pillow, but resists the urge by going into the kitchen to grab a beer. She glances back at the string of texts between them. 

**B. Tarth, 7:05 p.m.** : I always wear jeans to our gigs, but I imagine they would get rather hot under the stage lights.

 **J. Lannister, 7:06 p.m.** : Not true. You wore ripped tights and shorts once. 

It was when he had shown up to their weekly show at Qyburn’s. He has expressed interest in coming since then, but Brienne knows it isn’t easy for him. Jaime’s life is much different than hers. Despite his band not being in the limelight anymore, he is still recognized often. He can’t simply leave his house and do whatever he wants without some forethought. 

**B, 7:09 p.m.** : You remember that? 

**J, 7:10 p.m.** : Of course. 

When that text came in, Brienne had blushed and put down her phone to retrieve the pizzas. 

**J, 7:11 p.m.:** But your ass always looks good in whatever you wear. ;) 

The winky face emoji makes her stomach flutter and chuckle under her breath at the same time. “Brienne,” Asha calls. “Are you bringing beer?” 

“Yeah. Just a minute.” Her heart is pounding as she tries to think of a clever response. 

“Stop texting with Jaime!” Ygritte shouts back. 

“On second thought, you can get your own beer.” She tosses over her shoulder as she races up the stairs and into her bedroom, closing the door. Staring at her phone screen for way too long, she mentally composes several replies. Downstairs, she hears Sansa arriving. 

B. Tarth, 7:19 p.m.: Thanks. Gotta grab dinner. Talk to you later. 

Brienne leaves her phone in her room and is relieved no one asks her about Jaime. After pizza and watching some terrible rom com Sansa picked out, she heads upstairs, only to find half a dozen messages from Jaime. 

J **. Lannister, 7:20 p.m.** : Sorry if the last text was too much. Enjoy your dinner. 

**J, 7:21 p.m.** : Although I stand by my observation. Perhaps not the best thing to communicate over text, however. 

**J, 7:22 p.m.** : Particularly when it’s been less than 24 hours since the last texting incident. Forgive me? 

**J, 8:16 p.m.** : Addam is making us watch some boring documentary. Save me!! 

**J, 8:45 p.m.** : Are you okay? I didn’t mean to piss you off. 

**J, 9:05 p.m.** : Brienne. B. B. b. B b bbbbbbbbb. Text me back, please. 

She rolls her eyes, half annoyed and half amused by his insistence and lack of space (even over text.) Brienne calls him. “Hey,” he answers softly, his voice hushed. She imagines him sneaking away from the rest of the group in whatever fancy cabin they’re probably staying in for the weekend. 

“Hi. Sorry, I left my phone upstairs while we were watching a movie.” She lies back on her bed. There’s an old Kingslayers poster near her bookshelf. It captures a famous onstage moment at the ending to one of their iconic songs, “Honor and Glory”. Jaime’s legs are spread wide, the upper half of his body curled over his guitar, and his arm flung into the air. It seems weird to have up now, particularly with his voice in her ear. 

“It’s okay.” His voice resumes its normal volume and Brienne imagines him lying across his bed, same as her. “Sorry if what I said was inappropriate. Also, thank you for calling, you’re saving me from the last half of the documentary.” 

“It wasn't…” she trails off. “I’m just not very good at taking compliments.” 

He laughs. “Oh, I know.” 

“Anddddd,” Brienne stretches out the word, then exhales. “One of the girls saw it.” 

“Shit,” Jaime breathes. “Sorry. Had you--I mean, did you tell them what happened?” 

“No, of course not.” Her face flushes. “I mean, it’s not that I’m embarrassed or-” 

“Brienne,” he interrupts her. “It’s okay. I get it.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes.”

“Because I am going to tell them, I just thought I should wait until...well, until you get back, at least.” She’s still processing all of it, actually. It was enough that Jaime showed any interest in her music, much less any interest in her. 

“I get back in the morning. Do you want to meet at the studio after you get off work?” His offer puts her at ease. Brienne’s not ready for their relationship to change all at once, so the fact that he still wants to play music with her is reassuring. 

“That sounds perfect.” 

*

When she arrives at the studio on Monday, Brienne has a nervous smile on her face. As much as Jaime wants to kiss her right then and there, he holds back. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replies, blush tinting her cheeks. He gives her a minute to get set up. In the meantime, he strums out a tune. It’s meant for an acoustic guitar, so it sounds tinny and weird on the electric, but he looks up to find Brienne watching him. “What is that? Are you writing new songs for the tour?” 

“No,” he chuckles. “It’s a reunion tour. Only allowed to play songs we wrote almost 20 years ago.” 

“But is it something you wrote?” she asks again, her voice gentle. 

“Something like that.” The solo career he’s spent the past several years dreaming about feels like a moot point after what Tyrion told him before the retreat. 

“Then I want to hear it.” Her blue eyes are steady on his and he nearly leans forward and kisses her. No one in the industry has shown any interest in him as a solo artist, but it warms his heart that Brienne wants to know. Even if it’s only an unrealized dream. 

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he replies, trying to sound casual. He adjusts the guitar in his hands and plugs the jack into the amp, which hums with feedback. “Do you want to run through the usual? Or did you have something in particular you wanted to work on?” 

“I want you to teach me the song.” He studies her face. Blonde eyelashes and those sparkling blue eyes lined with the thinnest bit of eyeliner, making them look even wider and more stunning. The smattering of freckles across her nose. Her wide lips, which twitch nervously under his gaze. 

“It would be better on acoustic. It’s not going to sound good on these.”

“Teach me the song, Jaime.” Her mouth slides into an easy grin. “Please.”

“Okay,” he finally relents, returning her smile, before showing her the chord progression. 

When they’re done, the studio suddenly seems very, very small. Brienne’s hand lands on top of his as she reaches to unplug from the amp. She lets out a small laugh and thanks him as he passes her the cord. “Thanks for today,” he finally manages to say after watching her nestle the blue guitar back inside its case. “For your interest, I mean.” He stands, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I wanted to,” she breathes. Her eyes land on him and neither of them can look away. “Jaime,” Brienne starts, but he’s already stepping into her, a hand at her waist. It’s a long kiss, the way he’s wanted to kiss her for quite awhile, and her hand is pressed into his chest in just the right place and she sighs happily against him. He’s a goner. He can’t help it, he walks her back until they are pressed up against the padded walls of the studio. Brienne’s hands thread through his hair, kissing him fiercely in return. 

When they finally come up for air, a blush crawls up her cheeks, eliciting a chuckle from him as he presses light kisses to her chin, her cheek. “I should go,” she breathes, her fingertips brushing his hair back into place. 

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night?” He asks and she looks pleased, nodding. 

“That sounds great.” Jaime kisses her softly, sweetly then, but lets her go. 

*

 **J. Lannister, 5:05 p.m.** : Am I picking you up at your horse?  
 **J, 5:05 p.m.:** Sorry. House. 

Brienne was currently at the bus stop, the humidity of the day clinging to her in all the wrong places, and she desperately wishes she was already home taking a shower. Then Sansa was going to help her pick an outfit and she’d sworn Margaery to secrecy in order to have her makeup done. Part of her thought the last bit was too much, as she hardly ever wore makeup. Jaime had certainly seen her without it already, and yet, he still liked her. The thought sends a thrill up her spine as she boards the bus and collapses into a seat. 

**B. Tarth, 5:12 p.m.** : Do you mind picking me up around the corner? 

She sends him the address and the closest cross street. 

**J., 5:15 p.m.** : Still haven’t told your band mates, huh?   
**B, 5:17 p.m.** : It’s only our first date!   
**J, 5:18 p.m.** : I’m certain there will be a second, B. 

She smiles. Jaime’s insistence might sometimes be annoying (like when he texted her ten times in the span of twenty minutes), but she appreciates his confidence. It makes her more certain about her feelings for him. With him, it doesn’t feel like a game. She isn’t left guessing what the next step would be. He texts her all the time. He makes plans. 

When Brienne arrives home, she’s relieved to find Margaery is the only one there, accompanied by Sansa. “I’ve already laid some outfits on your bed,” her best friend says sweetly. 

“I love you both!” Brienne shouts as she runs up the stairs. 

Toweling off her hair from the shower, dressed in sweats and a tank top, she surveys the selections Sansa made. There’s a nice navy polka dotted semi-sheer blouse that Sansa paired with a gray skirt and chunky heels. A more casual striped tee and cropped pants with sandals. And a pale blue sundress Brienne hardly ever wears. It might be a little too dressy. Putting it on, she surveys herself in the mirror. It hits just above her knee. The top part is a little smaller than she remembers--and is perhaps the reason she wears it rarely--but it shows off the expanse of her shoulders. 

Nervously, she makes her way downstairs, where both Sansa and Margaery gasp. “Oh Bri, it’s perfect,” the redhead exclaims. 

“Gods, your boobs look amazing,” Margaery coos. 

Brienne flushes, her whole chest splotching pink. “Maybe I should wear a jacket over it.” 

“No!” They exclaim in unison. 

“You can take a jacket unless it’s cold in the restaurant or wherever he’s taking you, but you cannot wear it out of this house. He has to see you like that first,” Sansa explains, dispensing sage advice, even though she is not concerned with impressing men these days. 

“And both of you swear you won’t say a word to Asha or Ygritte.” 

“We swear,” they both say. 

Margaery gets to work on her makeup. “I promise you’ll barely notice you’re wearing any.” 

And she doesn’t. Her top eyelid is lined with a dark blue color which brings out her eyes, but doesn’t make her look overdone. Her cheeks barely dusted with blush, not that she really needs it, and her lips colored a light pink very close to her natural shade. “Thank you,” she tells them, wrapping them both in hugs. Going upstairs, she grabs her gray denim jacket and slides her feet into a pair of muted gold strappy sandals. 

**J. Lannister, 6:58 p.m.** : I’m here.   
**B. Tarth, 7:00 p.m.** : Only Sansa and Margaery are home, so you can pull up front if you want.  
 **J, 7:01 p.m.** : Your driver is here.

A black sports car is idling in front of her house. Brienne has never given much thought to what Jaime might drive, but upon seeing it, it makes sense. He has money. And guys were usually interested in fast cars, weren’t they? 

She opens the door and slides across the leather seat. “I would have gotten out to open your door, but I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for-” Jaime stops, his eyes raking over her exposed decolletage and legs. “Wow,” he breathes. “You look amazing.” He cups her chin in his hand, drawing her in for a kiss. “Wow,” he repeats, murmuring it against her mouth. 

Brienne flushes. “Thank you. You look nice, too.” She’s just now noticing, but Jaime could never look _bad_. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white button up shirt with thin vertical maroon stripes. She’s never seen him in a collared shirt before and it makes her stomach swoop. “So where are we going?” 

Jaime turns around on her street. Once he pulls out onto the main road, his right hand reaches over, settling on her knee, his thumb stroking along her skin as he talks, like they've been doing this forever. “Addam told me about this restaurant downtown. It’s supposed to be pretty nice.” Trying not to let her nerves get the better of her, she asks about Addam and how long they’ve known each other. “Gods, forever.” He tells her the story of how they started playing music and writing songs together during high school. 

When they pull up to the restaurant, Brienne is shocked to realize it’s valet. When she and the girls have been to any sort of bar or club this nice, they always take a ride share to avoid paying for the cost of the valet, but Jaime acts like it’s nothing. And it _is_ probably nothing to him, she realizes. He must go to places like this all the time. 

Jaime takes her hand, which soothes her nerves a little, and they walk inside. Brienne notes the cream colored tablecloths and the mix of conversation and cutlery clinking against plates. She immediately feels out of place. He gives his name to the maitre’d and they’re whisked back to their table. After looking at the menu for several minutes, she’s absorbed very little of it, confused by what any of the items might be. It’s all very out of her depth. Perhaps she’ll order whatever Jaime is having. When she looks up from her menu, he rolls his eyes and leans forward, whispering, “This place isn’t really, uh, my thing. Do you want to go somewhere else?” 

“Please,” she replies, so relieved she starts to giggle. He squeezes her knee under the table before rising from his chair quickly, reaching for her hand. 

Once they’re outside, waiting for the car, he lets out a laugh. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Brienne assures him. 

“I’m never listening to Addam again. In fact, I’m sure he’s never been here in his life!” Jaime loops his arm around her waist and pulls her flush against his side. “Gods, now I’m starving.” She glances at him, a different kind of hunger in his eyes, and it takes her breath away. 

He drives north of the city center, pulling into a garage. “This is actually my building. Thought it might be easier to park here since this place is just around the corner.” She starts to open her door, but he tells her to stop and runs around to get it. 

“You don’t have to do that all the time,” she insists, as he reaches out a hand to help her up. 

“I like doing it.” He replies, raising his eyebrows at her, before stealing a kiss. 

Jaime’s second choice, a taco stand, is much better. They get the food to go and walk to a nearby park, sitting on a bench to eat. They talk about music and their friends, all sorts of things, until he pushes a piece of hair back from her face and kisses her again. Much like their first kiss in the studio, once they start, they can’t seem to stop. Jaime runs his fingertips over as much of her bare skin as he can reach, Brienne trying desperately not to whimper against him. When the streetlamps over the path begin to turn on one by one, he pulls away slowly, brushing his knuckles across the blush of her cheeks. “Probably should get you home,” he murmurs. “When are we doing this again?” 

_Tomorrow_ , Brienne wants to say, but she only smiles.  
  
*

Jaime is so busy spending time with Brienne, he keeps forgetting to return Tyrion’s calls, emails, and texts about the upcoming tour. The tour. He needs to discuss it with Brienne, but with their relationship still in the early stages, it always feels too soon. 

He’s heading out to meet her at the studio, when he opens his apartment door to find his brother waiting outside. “What are you doing here? I was on my way out.” 

“Hello to you too, dear brother. Have you forgotten that we’re leaving on tour in two weeks? And yet you haven’t gotten back to me any number of things: transportation, accommodations.” 

Jaime gives him a cavalier shrug. “You know I don’t care about any of that stuff,” he frowns. “Just book whatever.” 

“Jaime, you missed practice yesterday.” 

_Shit._

He’s been spending so much time with Brienne--a couple sessions in the studio and another one or two date nights--none of which conflicted with the Kingslayers’ daytime practice schedule, but Tyrion is right. He forgot. Last night was the first time Brienne came over to his place, so he couldn’t say he regretted missing it, busy as his mouth had been making its way down her whole body. 

A pleased look must pass over his face at the thought because his brother holds up an accusing finger. “You fucked someone.” He pushes past Jaime into the apartment, laughing. “Hoho, do tell me everything. It has been _entirely_ too long.” 

Jaime feels the heat creeping into his neck, but he can’t hide his smile. “No, come on.” He tries to brush Tyrion off. “I don’t have time for this. I have to be somewhere.” 

“Oh, fuck. It’s _her_. You slept with Brienne?” His brother’s eyes are wide, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

He groans, because he really did not want to have this conversation right now. In fact, he would prefer not to have it all. Jaime feels oddly protective of their nascent relationship. “Yeah,” he shrugs, annoyed the stupid grin he can’t seem to wipe off his face gave him away. 

“Well, in that case, congratulations.” Tyrion applauds. “I didn’t think you had it in you. And now, I will tell her all the terrible things about you.” 

“You will _not_ ,” Jaime tries to sound threatening, but he’s laughing, because he can see how happy his brother is for him. “I will make the missed practice up to you, I promise. But for now, I really have to go. Lock up, will you?” 


End file.
